


The Art of Control

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, BDSM, Ball Gag, Blow Jobs, Dildos, Dom Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fifty Shades of Grey, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light Sadism, M/M, Prostate Massage, Restraints, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sub Merlin (Merlin), Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: Merlin closes his eyes as Arthur pulls his naked body against his own and runs his hands down his back possessively, two fingers pushing into Merlin and shallowly pumping in and out, making Arthur’s semen ooze out and begin to lubricate the tops of Merlin’s thighs.“I have just the thing,” Arthur smirks, pulling out his favourite prostrate massager: a handled, Njoy stainless steel plug. “Face the window, hands on the glass, legs splayed wide,” he orders. Merlin complies, flushing as he sees people in the street below glance upwards.“Shouldn’t we do this away from the - ah! -” Merlin gasps as Arthur pushes the plug straight into his prostrate and begins screwing. He hangs his head, trembling, unable to stop the endless moan that Arthur’s ministrations tear from his lungs, cock hard and weeping. “Please,” he stutters, already on the edge, already painfully desperate, but Arthur keeps torturing him with pleasure, stroking his back, smiling as he becomes an incoherent, gibberish, weeping mess, begging for Arthur’s touch.





	The Art of Control

*****

Merlin carefully puts down his paintbrush, suddenly conscious of being watched. He feels warm breath on his neck, hands sliding beneath his paint-splattered shirt and caressing his skin. He closes his eyes, gasping quietly as the soft skin between his throat and shoulder is bitten, soothed, bitten again. He hadn’t realised it was 4 o’clock already; Arthur is always home at 4 o’clock, and always punctual.

“I missed you,” Arthur says, unzipping Merlin’s jeans and stroking his cock.

“I missed you too,” Merlin murmurs, tilting his head to the side to kiss Arthur’s cheek. He eyes his painting warily as Arthur begins to divest him of his clothes, desperate for it to remain undamaged; it’s his final year at art school, and this is his seminal examined piece - it needs to be perfect. He turns cautiously in Arthur’s arms, taking his face gently between his hands. “It’s due tomorrow,” he says, kissing Arthur’s chin, “I have to finish it this evening.” He hopes Arthur understands; he doesn’t have time for sex, or play, right now. Arthur likes to take his time taking Merlin apart. Hours sometimes, until Merlin is sufficiently broken, pushed beyond his comfortable limits; that’s where Arthur finds his own pleasure.

Arthur scoffs and lifts Merlin up, carrying him over to the window and pressing him against the cold glass.

“It already looks wonderful,” he says as he strips his lover quickly, lifting him up again until his naked body is pressed against the window pane, open for any passer by to see. “No-one will remember Michelangelo after you.” Merlin flushes, resigned to _Arthur_ , and wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist, arms around his shoulders, holding himself still as Arthur takes his cock out of his suit trousers, quickly opens a lube sachet and strokes it over his dick, and thrusts quickly - hard - into an unprepared Merlin. Merlin’s used to it - likes it, usually. Today he hopes Arthur finishes quickly so he can get back to work. He closes his eyes and rests his head against Arthur’s shoulder as Arthur grinds himself into Merlin’s body deeper and deeper, stroking his arse as he slides in and out of him. After his initial frenzy passes - and he’s always frenzied when he hasn’t touched Merlin for a few hours - he slows down, slowly pumping Merlin’s arse, lifting his chin to slide his tongue into his mouth, lazily licking against Merlin’s own, tasting and teasing him. Merlin realises Arthur’s not going to hurry up of his own accord and looks at his painting worriedly as Arthur sucks bruises behind his ears, fingers gripping his hipbones. He arches and tilts his head back, letting Arthur see his body, see himself taking it.

“Come inside me,” he whispers pleadingly, hands sliding into Arthur’s hair. “Please, Arthur. I need you inside me.” Arthur groans and collapses against Merlin, driving into him relentlessly until he keens and releases himself; Merlin feels hot come splashing his bowels, and winces as Arthur withdraws. He hopes he’ll be free to go back to painting now, but Arthur looks down at his soft cock in concern.

“Baby,” he whispers, gathering Merlin close to him, “let me look after you now.” Merlin bites his lip.

“It’s okay,” he says hurriedly. “I really need to carry on painting. I’m just distracted, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be silly,” Arthur chides gently, “you’ll be able to concentrate more once you’ve come, won’t you?” Merlin closes his eyes as Arthur pulls his naked body against his own and runs his hands down his back possessively, two fingers pushing into Merlin and shallowly pumping in and out, making Arthur’s semen ooze out and begin to lubricate the tops of Merlin’s thighs. “I have just the thing,” Arthur smirks, pulling out his favourite prostrate massager: a handled, Njoy stainless steel plug. “Face the window, hands on the glass, legs splayed wide,” he orders. Merlin complies, flushing as he sees people in the street below glance upwards.

“Shouldn’t we do this away from the _\- ah! -_ ” Merlin gasps as Arthur pushes the plug straight into his prostrate and begins screwing. He hangs his head, trembling, unable to stop the endless moan that Arthur’s ministrations tear from his lungs, cock hard and weeping. “Please,” he stutters, already on the edge, already painfully desperate, but Arthur keeps torturing him with pleasure, stroking his back, smiling as he becomes an incoherent, gibberish, weeping _mess_ , begging for Arthur’s touch. Eventually the movement stops and before Merlin can process what’s happening, Arthur is on his knees, taking Merlin into his mouth and sucking hard. Merlin bucks and cries as he releases a tide of semen down Arthur’s throat, collapsing against Arthur’s face, fingers tangled in Arthur’s hair. Arthur pulls him into his lap with a shit-eating grin. “Feel good?” he asks. Merlin nods uselessly, allowing Arthur to plunder his mouth, kissing him deeply. Arthur removes the plug and helps Merlin get dressed, propping him against his easel.

“I’ll come back at 6 o’clock with supper for you,” Arthur says, kissing the top of his head. “Shall we start play earlier tonight, love, so you can get a goodnight’s sleep before your presentation tomorrow? 9 o’clock?” Merlin worries that he’ll need more than five hours to finish his installment, and would rather _not_ play tonight. He’d much prefer to just curl up in Arthur’s arms and relax before his last assessment. But Arthur’s clearly had a day of it; Merlin can sense the urgency in his mood.

“That’s perfect, thank you,” he smiles, tipping his face up to be kissed. The calmer Arthur is by 9 o’clock, the better for Merlin.

“I’m so proud of you sweetheart,” Arthur grins, drawing Merlin close to him before leaving the attic room he’d had specially converted into a studio and gallery space. Merlin nudges his head beneath Arthur’s chin, breathing him in deeply, and feeling safe and warm.

“I love you,” he whispers, holding Arthur tightly, and Arthur kisses his hair, before extracting himself and leaving Merlin to his painting.

 

*

 

At 6 o’clock sharp, the door opens again, and Merlin turns to see Arthur balancing a tray. He hops off his stool and walks over to help. Tonight is a seared tuna steak and miso stir-fried broccoli; Arthur chooses all Merlin’s food for him, cooks it, and controls how much of it he eats. He likes Merlin’s narrow, skinny frame, and wants him healthy, strong and slender.

“It smells delicious,” Merlin grins, placing the tray on a wooden side table, and sliding over his stool to eat. Arthur puts a hand on his arm, moving the tray to the floor, sitting beside it, back to the wall, and unzipping his trousers, hard, lubed-up and glistening cock coming out.

“Come,” he smiles, reaching a hand out to Merlin. “Sit on my lap and I’ll feed you.” Merlin’s brow furrows, not having expected more sex until later, but he scrambles out of his clothes and sits in Arthur’s lap, his back to Arthur’s chest, so that he can rest his head back against his shoulder, and carefully lower himself onto Arthur’s cock, impaling himself. He groans as Arthur uses his hips to work him further down, until Arthur is rooted deeply inside him, buried to the hilt. They stay still, Arthur rocking against Merlin to nudge his prostate occasionally, as he feeds him his supper. Merlin obediently opens his mouth to accept food, and chews slowly as Arthur moves inside him, whining as he starts to feel his prostate being steadily massaged by the head of Arthur’s cock.

“That’s it baby,” Arthur croons, putting the food to one side, and lifting Merlin’s hips so that Merlin can use his knees to fuck himself on Arthur’s cock, Arthur twisting his nipples and biting his lip as he works himself up and down Arthur’s length. “How are you feeling?”

“So full,” Merlin gasps, “you feel so good inside me.”

“There’s my good boy,” Arthur praises him. “Make yourself come now, sweetheart, no touching.” Merlin closes his eyes and increases his pace, pressing his palms into the floor to help him keep his balance as he fucks himself on Arthur.

“ _Nnngh_ ,” he begins to moan desperately as he feels his stomach, balls tightening, “ _ah, please touch me, Arthur, nnggh, please._ ” Arthur ignores him, stroking Merlin’s back as Merlin quickens his pace yet again, and suddenly stills, body shaking, as he comes all over the floor. He leans forward to catch his breath, soothed by Arthur stroking his back, wincing slightly as Arthur withdraws. He pulls Merlin back against him - his hard cock still prodding Merlin in the back - and gives him another mouthful of fish and green vegetables before discarding the rest of the meal.

“Clean the floor,” Arthur whispers, and Merlin crawls off his lap and between his legs to lick his own come off the floor, Arthur stroking his hair until it’s clean. He lets Arthur guide him towards his cock, licking its glistening tip before swallowing down the whole length and sucking him gently. Arthur looks at the dark head bobbing between his legs, strokes through the dark curls, along the perfect shell of a soft ear, the warm nape of neck, and gasps as he releases himself into Merlin’s delicious mouth. Arthur gathers Merlin into his arms, Merlin sitting in his lap, cuddling him, nuzzling into his chest. He loves Arthur’s chest. He loves _Arthur_.

 

*

 

Arthur had met Merlin when he was 30 and Merlin was 17, an innocent, shy, sweet young virgin, an orphan just been taken into care following the death of his mother. Arthur supported lots of charities as a wealthy businessman, and gave both time and generous donations to causes close to his heart. He moved Merlin into his home, paid for his education, at school, and then at London’s best art college, gave him beautiful things; clothes, holidays, a family. He had loved and cared for Merlin after a lifetime of insecurity and poverty and loneliness, possessive and protective about him in a way that thrilled Merlin.

The summer after Merlin had finished his A-levels, Arthur had taken him on holiday to Barbados. One of the surfing instructors on the beach had been flirting with Merlin a little, and Arthur’s mood soured until he could barely look at or speak to Merlin, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists as if fighting against himself, trying to stay in control. Merlin realised, after a day spent in unhappy, frightened confusion, that Arthur was _jealous_.

“I didn’t like him,” he’d said quietly, when they returned to their room to shower and dress for supper. Arthur stilled, turning slowly to look at Merlin with a hunger in his eyes that made him shiver. Merlin felt himself blushing, aroused, terrified, wanting to sink into the floor rather than be burned by that scorching gaze, but suddenly he was caged in Arthur’s arms, being backed slowly into the corner of the room, locked between Arthur and the wall.

“Do you like _me_?” Arthur asked him seriously, his voice tense. Merlin went beetroot to his ears, cock jumping, heart throbbing, and placed his hands on Arthur’s chest.

“I _love_ you, Arthur,” he’d said simply, and Arthur had groaned, suddenly consuming his mouth, peeling Merlin’s sandy, damp beachwear away from his body, dropping to his knees and spreading Merlin’s legs to lick and suck his hole, balls, cock. Merlin’s legs felt like jelly, brain short-circuiting as he held on to Arthur’s head, first orgasm hitting him like a freight truck as Arthur swallowed him down.

“Merlin,” Arthur had whispered, pained, pulling Merlin into his lap, holding him close. “ _Sweetheart_. My beautiful, precious boy,” he’d kissed Merlin slowly, hands exploring every inch of his naked body. “I love you too, with my whole heart.” Merlin couldn’t help but laugh, delightedly, never imagining that a man like Arthur could ever want him like this.

After that Arthur hadn’t stopped touching Merlin all holiday. He spent all day being fucked open and raw by Arthur, blown, kissed, massaged, cuddled, stroked, watched, filled, over and over, until he was sweaty, achey, tired, bruised; still he wanted more, utterly consumed by his powerful, virile lover. On one of their last nights, wrapped together, naked limbs entwined in a cool bed, sea breeze blowing through an open window, Arthur had kissed him and they’d had their first, serious conversation.

“I need to know what you want from this,” Arthur had started, tilting Merlin’s face to look at him.

“You?” Merlin had responded confused.

“In what capacity?” Arthur continued. Merlin wrinkled his nose, smiling as Arthur kissed it.

“I don’t know what you mean?” Merlin admitted, apologetically.

“ _God_ , you’re sweet,” Arthur breathed, kissing Merlin’s neck. Merlin pressed his body closer to Arthur’s, and they kissed slowly, lazily, smiling into each other’s mouths. Eventually Arthur pulled away, propping himself on one elbow to look down at his young lover. “You’re at art college next year. Will you want to date other boys and girls? Experiment a little?” Merlin’s heart had lurched and he shook his head vehemently.

“No, I want you.” He’d been certain. Arthur nodded, consideringly.

“I want you too,” he murmured, stroking Merlin’s cheek. “I love you, and I will look after you, but Merlin …” he paused, uncertainly, looking down. “The thing is, that … I have very … _specific_ … needs.” Merlin blinked up at him.

“What sort of needs?”

“Do you know anything about BDSM?” Arthur asked him. Merlin shook his head. He’d heard the term at school, but it meant nothing to him. Arthur nodded. “I got into the scene when I was 20. I subbed for a female dom for nearly three years, then a male dom for one. Subbing - being a submissive - means giving control of yourself over entirely to your dom - dominant. I realised three things during that time. Firstly, regular sex doesn’t fully satisfy me. Secondly, I prefer sex with men. And thirdly, I prefer dominating, but I had to be with doms in order to learn how to dom properly myself. I’ve had a few arrangements with subs in the last six years - ones where the parameters of the relationship are agreed and defined by contract. What the limits are. To what extent they are prepared to submit control - and in what areas of their life. With you, I don’t want contracts. I love you and I want a relationship with you, not an ‘arrangement’. But if you agree to that Merlin, you need to understand what it might be like for you.”

“What would it be like?” Merlin requested uncertainly.

“I’m obsessed with you,” Arthur smiled ruefully, “it’s worse than it’s ever been. I want complete control. I won’t share you; not with other men, or women, romantically or platonically. I want you to be mine, and only mine, forever. I want to be free to do whatever I like to your body. To fuck you or make love to you or strip you and look at you whenever I feel like it; you’ve already experienced that this holiday. But I want to _play_ with you too.” Merlin’s eyes widened as Arthur’s voice lowered with arousal. “I have a room with a secret entrance from my study. A playroom. I want to tie you up, use toys on you, test all your limits for pain and pleasure. I want you to say yes to _everything_ I ask of you, trusting me to always look after you.” Arthur kissed him, voice softening. “I want to make your choices for you; what you eat, when you eat. I want you to live with me, not in college halls. I want you to give yourself to me in mind, body, heart and spirit, and I will give myself to you too. Do you understand what I’m asking for, sweetheart? I want you to give your _life_ to me.” Merlin was curled in Arthur’s arms, brow furrowed.

“You said ‘pain’ …” he began slowly. “You mean you want to hurt me?” Arthur kissed his temple, and suddenly twisted his nipple so hard Merlin yelled, using his other hand to push two fingers inside Merlin’s oozing hole, pushing straight against his still-sensitive prostrate. Merlin’s cock hardened and he whimpered against Arthur’s chest as Arthur abused his nipples and mercilessly teased his prostrate.

“Pain,” Arthur explained, twisting his fingers into Merlin’s throbbing nub and pinching the second nipple hard, to Merlin’s agonising arousal, “when administered correctly, can bring great pleasure too,” and Merlin understood the brief demonstration as Arthur stopped his _playing_. “I find arousal watching you experience both.”

“Oh,” Merlin had said numbly, dazed. Arthur stroked his head. It took some thinking, but eventually Merlin smiled up at him. “I trust you Arthur,” he’d said. “I’ll try.”

 

*

 

That was three years ago. Merlin’s been Arthur’s boyfriend and submissive ever since. He lives with Arthur and follows Arthur’s routines. They wake at 6am for Arthur to fuck or play with Merlin for an hour before they shower together. Arthur washes, shaves, and waxes him to his pleasure. He makes Merlin’s breakfast and drives him to college before he goes into work. A body guard, Leon, is left with Merlin for the day, to ensure his safety. Merlin is allowed to be friends with people Arthur has approved from his course; Gwen, Freya, Gwen’s boyfriend Lance. Merlin doesn’t have his own bank account; he has a card for a shared bank account with Arthur, in order to buy small things for himself - toiletries, bus passes, things from the university canteen at lunch - but Arthur limits the funds available and monitors his expenditure, preferring to buy anything Merlin wants or needs himself. Merlin has evening classes on a Tuesday and Wednesday (he was allowed - encouraged, actually - by Arthur, to study what he loved most - art - because Arthur said he’d always be financially provided for and should only do things he enjoyed), but the rest of the week he’s home by 3pm or 4pm to study, paint, read, work. Arthur returns from meetings at around the same time, rushing home to catch-up with Merlin after so many hours spent apart. Sometimes they just lie on the sofa talking, kissing, reading; other times Arthur fucks him senseless against the front door he’s so desperate for him. Arthur cooks and they eat supper together. He carefully controls how much Merlin eats, to keep him skinny. At restaurants he orders Merlin’s food. Arthur works for a few more hours in the evening, to talk to clients in different time zones, but when he’s finished, Merlin is asked to shower, brush his teeth, moisturise, and enter the playroom, lying naked on his belly to wait for Arthur. Sometimes Arthur does a short, intense scene, only 30-45 minutes. But there are the days when Arthur is drunk on Merlin, and then he’ll play with him all night, extracting orgasm after orgasm out of him, often until Merlin’s been pushed past both his pain _and_ pleasure limits, passing out. There’s nothing they haven’t tried, nothing they don’t ‘do’ - with one exception: Arthur won’t engage in group scenes, orgies, swinging parties. No-one but him is allowed to touch Merlin. Sometimes they’ll go to a fetish club, and Arthur lets people watch them play. Merlin found it weird, uncomfortable, at first, but now he zones out, getting a thrill from seeing Arthur so turned on by _him_ , publicly submitting. At the weekends, there’s no play at all, just normal, conventional sex and lovemaking. Mainstream date nights at art exhibitions, theatre performances. It’s a relationship that works for both of them, making them both happy. Merlin gets everything he needs: love, devotion, encouragement, support, affection, family, commitment, loyalty. Arthur gets the same from Merlin, and absolute, unconditional submission.

 

There are occasions - fleeting, tiny moments - when Merlin feels a little frustrated that he can’t ever _say no_ , or _later_. He loves Arthur with his whole heart and wants to give him what he needs - and most of the time he enjoys what they do, especially being able to arouse Arthur in the way he does. But sometimes he _doesn’t_ enjoy the pain; it’s too much. He’d rather just be in bed with Arthur making love to him sweetly, kindly, reverently. And sometimes he’d appreciate being granted the smallest types of control, like being able to spontaneously go for a coffee and a piece of cake with Gwen after lectures finish in the afternoon, without having to get Arthur’s approval first, but Arthur gets stressed if he doesn’t know where and who Merlin’s with and what they’re doing at all times, and he certainly wouldn’t approve of cake.

 

*

 

At 9pm, Merlin carefully cleans and puts away his brushes, and stands back to look at his finished piece of work. Their subject matter was _Society_ , and Merlin’s canvas captures everything that concept means to him in abstract impressions. The centre is red and hot, hands and heart, community and togetherness. As that core beats outward there are symbols of ruling institutions: the houses of government, education, law, religion, grouped together in grey cities tinged with gold, overlaid with iconography; a globe in a laurel wreath, a mortarboard and scroll, a hammer of justice, a crucifix and goblet. Angels and demons alike watch down from a cloudy heaven, as in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel, whilst the churches are marred with conflict, paint-splattered and blotted in tribute to Jackson Pollock’s black paintings. The landscape shifts into something softer towards the outer edges of the frame - Maurice de Vlaminck, or fauvist in style - the trees and hills and oceans are crafted from symbols of the things that bind humanity in shared experience; music, food and wine, beauty, nature, sex. It’s a cacophonous landscape, with overtones of Dali: the sweeping brushstrokes and incongruous juxtaposition of elements, both real and unreal. Merlin’s happy with it.

He goes to the bathroom to shower, so that he’s clean for Arthur. Then he makes his way to their playroom and lies face down on the bed, arms by his sides, legs open, naked and ready. He doesn’t have to wait for long before he hears the door open, the air eliciting a cool shiver of anticipation down his back. Arthur is completely silent as he begins to kiss his way down Merlin’s spine, hot, wet kisses that have Merlin hard in seconds, fighting to stay still, not to rut against the sheets. If he begs, he’ll be punished, denied relief; he’s learnt to trust Arthur to give him what he needs. Arthur praises his good behaviour and peels open Merlin’s cheeks, tonguing his hole and working the wet muscle in to begin to loosen Merlin. Merlin allows the sensations, the pleasure to wash through him, over him, content and calm, happy to enjoy this moment rather than chasing release: he knows it will come when Arthur’s ready. Arthur spends what feels like _hours_ kissing him, opening him, pouring oil over and into him, massaging him - Merlin is floating mindlessly, cock weeping steady streams of thin fluid, pre-release. He’s pliant as Arthur opens his mouth and straps a ball-gag in place, liking having something filling him, something to bite, lick, taste. Next Arthur blindfolds him, and puts headphones on him, a deep, rhythmic, beating, base-filled trance track.

With sight and hearing gone, Merlin’s sensitivity to touch suddenly increases tenfold. He moans as his hands are tied together, breathless with anticipation, and leans in to Arthur as he’s lifted from the bed and led over to the bench. Arthur begins to lower him, and Merlin feels something nudge his arse, push against his hole. Arthur lightly presses down on his shoulders, and Merlin understands that he is to impale himself on this object. Carefully he begins to work it inside him, moving up and down, twisting to ease it inside. It’s big - a dildo, probably, but much thicker than usual. Merlin thinks of the monster dildos in Arthur’s collection and shudders as he thinks of his least favourite: it’s called Stan, wider than a fist, purple and black veined, like a muscled arm, rock hard silicone at least 15 inches long. It takes a long time to get it in, and patient guidance from Arthur, lifting him up and working him down. He feels stretched beyond comfort, almost at the point of tearing, and still Arthur works him up and down. Eventually he gasps as the blunt head of the instrument begins to massage his prostate, and Arthur smacks his arse - hard - with a paddle. That’s Merlin’s signal to keep going until he comes, with or without touch. His thighs are aching from working himself on and off the bench with no support from his arms, which Arthur has pulled and secured above his head. Being filled with music, blind, arse and mouth stuffed, Merlin loses all sense of himself, vaguely aware of shaking, cock leaking, tears leaking, overwhelmed and overstimulated, dropping rapidly into subspace. Suddenly the monster inside him begins to vibrate and Merlin screams as he comes, falling forwards into Arthur’s arms and losing time as he floats in an intense, blissful euphoria. He’s vaguely aware of being lifted off the cock, carried back to the bed, and laid on his back as Arthur fucks into him, gently untying Merlin’s hands, ungagging him, and linking their fingers above Merlin’s head as he licks into his mouth and moves deeply inside him. Merlin’s still blindfolded, deaf to the trance music, but he dazedly kisses Arthur back, body responding automatically to Arthur’s, arching against him even as the overstimulation of his over-sensitised prostate causes Merlin to sweat and moan: he can feel the moan thrumming through his body, even if he can’t hear it. Arthur makes love to him for a long time before finally releasing himself, filling Merlin with his seed. Merlin trembles as Arthur withdraws, removes the blindfold and headphones, and pulls Merlin into his arms, covering him with a warm blanket and kissing his head.

“You were perfect, sweetheart,” Arthur whispers, rubbing his back, wiping away his tears. When Merlin drops, he often sobs uncontrollably until the feeling has passed; it’s always a cathartic, strange, wonderful experience. Eventually the tears dry, and he begins to feel the haze lifting, as though he’s waking up, returning to consciousness. He slides his arms round Arthur, wincing as the movement accentuates the soreness in his arse. “I am so in love with you my little bird,” Arthur whispers tenderly, “you beautiful, perfect, addictive thing.” Merlin flushes with happiness.

“I’m in love with you with you too,” he mumbles sleepily, “with all that I am.”

 

It’s half past midnight when they eventually shower and slide into bed; Arthur played with Merlin for three hours this evening, milking four orgasms from him. In total that’s seven in the last 24 hours. A fairly standard day.

 

*

 

The following afternoon, Arthur is leaning against his Range Rover waiting outside the art college for Merlin to finish his viva exam and presentation. He looks up from his phone as a figure hurries towards him, and smiles when he sees Merlin’s ear-to-ear beam.

“They loved you,” Arthur states, pulling Merlin into his arms and kissing his neck.

“One of the adjudicators is a gallery owner,” Merlin gabbles excitedly, burrowing into Arthur’s arms. “He offered me my own exhibition, Arthur!” Arthur grins and sweeps Merlin off his feet, twirling him round.

“You clever, brilliant man,” he smiles, placing Merlin back on the ground and giving Leon a courteous nod. “Which gallery is it?”

“Borden’s?” Merlin fumbles in his pocket and hands Arthur a business card. He looks at it seriously.

“Julius Borden?” he asks. Merlin nods, concerned by Arthur’s grave expression.

“You can’t exhibit with Borden, Merlin,” Arthur says flatly. “He’s got a terrible reputation in the industry.” Merlin’s face crumples and Arthur lifts his chin. “I’ll introduce you to all the best gallery owners,” he promises. Merlin pulls his arm away and climbs into the car quietly. He waits until they get home, and until Leon has left them alone, before he steels himself, and turns to Arthur, who’s making tea.

“Arthur, I want to say yes to Borden,” Merlin says firmly. “I don’t want my work to be exhibited because people are doing favours for you, or because you’ve _bought_ me space in a gallery, I want someone to want my paintings because they believe they’re good. Borden does.” He tries to be rational and calm. Arthur snorts dismissively.

“Merlin, Borden has a reputation for taking young men straight out of art school on to his books, and then making them pay for that privilege with sexual favours. There have been three lawsuits against him in the last five years, and they’re just the ones who’ve come forward.” Merlin frowns.

“So you don’t believe that someone would simply want my paintings on the merit of my skill?” he half-whispers. Arthur pulls Merlin against him immediately.

“ _Mer_ lin,” he says in fond exasperation. “You are extraordinarily talented and your paintings are exceptional. I know they say love is blind, but I can assure you I would tell you if I thought they were awful, because I wouldn’t want you to make a fool of yourself. I promise you that you can do better than _Borden_. Really, truly.” Merlin looks unconvinced.

“Look, I’ll stay out of it,” Arthur says. “Take your portfolio to all the galleries you’re interested in, contact their owners yourself, know that if you’re offered an exhibition it’s on the merit of your ability. But forget about Borden, he’s bad news.” Merlin sighs and nods, grateful he’s being given some independence in his career, at least. “Now,” Arthur smiles, stroking his cheek, “you’re going to graduate with a First Class Bachelor of Arts honours degree in Fine Art! Let’s go out to celebrate. Anywhere in the world you like. Paris? New York?” Merlin looks at the floor nervously.

“Actually, Arthur, I was hoping to go out with Gwen and her friends tonight. She invited me earlier.” Arthur leans back to look at Merlin’s worried face.

“I see,” he says impassively. “And what’s Gwen’s plan for the evening?” Merlin shrugs a little.

“Her dad owns a pub,” Merlin explains. “Her boyfriend Lance is in a band playing there tonight. Just music and a few drinks. It sounds fun, and it was kind of her to invite me.” He looks at Arthur imploringly and Arthur sighs, incapable of denying Merlin anything.“Fine, I’ll ask Leon to drive you there and bring you back,” Arthur agrees grudgingly. Merlin looks distracted again.

“Actually …” Arthur raises an eyebrow, waiting for Merlin to spit it out. “Well, I’d hoped not to have Leon there.” Merlin admits. “It’s odd to have a babysitter on a night out Arthur. I’ll be perfectly safe to catch the bus there and back. Please,” he places a hand on Arthur’s arm. “Please trust me.” Arthur rubs his neck uncomfortably, but eventually nods at him and Merlin beams, wrapping Arthur in his skinny arms and squeezing him tightly. “I love you,” he whispers. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“And I love you,” Arthur murmurs back.

 

*

 

Merlin can’t believe his luck! Arthur had helped him pick out a nice outfit; dark skinny jeans and a plaid shirt and suede boots, and put some more money in Merlin’s bank account to spend. Gwen’s father’s pub, _The Lucky Horseshoe_ , is a wonderful medieval tavern, and Merlin feels so carefree and alive and happy to be having a wonderful night out with friends, with a man who loves him waiting at home, his degree all finished, and an artist’s career about to begin. He grins around at the table taking another slurp of a craft beer, a mix between an ale and a mead, and eagerly helps himself to a chip from one of the plates of sharing food Gwen had ordered. He’s met so many nice new people this evening; Gwen and Freya and Lance he already knew, but tonight he’s met Lance’s bandmates - Gwen’s brother Elyan, Gwaine and Percy - Freya’s boyfriend Will, and Will’s sister Sefa. Merlin feels a bit tipsy, given that he never drinks, but smiles good-naturedly when everyone laughs at him for scoffing the food.

“Probably needs some water, fresh air and a quick smoke to straighten himself, don’t ya ole’ fella?” Gwaine’s a very funny Irish man, and Merlin lets him pull him up and help him to the bar. He makes Merlin drink a pint of water and then pushes him outside to sit on one of the benches by the clay ovens, where it’s warm. Merlin shivers anyway, feeling a bit sick, and like everything is suddenly rotating around him. He groans and closes his eyes. “Aw, mate,” Gwaine says sympathetically. “Have a cig, it soaks up the beer.” Merlin squints at him.

“I’ve never smoked,” he says. “It’s bad for you.” Gwaine gives him a roguish grin.

“Sure it’s bad for you. So’s living. Life’s the only disease with a 100% death rate.” Gwaine takes a puff of his own cigarette and hands the little white stick to Merlin. Curiously he accepts it, and sucks in a mouthful. Five seconds later he’s vomiting into a bush, glaring at Gwaine whenever he’s able to withdraw his head from the foliage. Gwaine rubs his back comfortingly.

“Aww, don’t look at me like that!” he grins. “My plan worked, didn’t it? Now you’ve had a tactical chunder, you’ll be grand for a dance at _The Unicorn_. We’ll head there in a bit.”

“What’s _The Unicorn_?” Merlin asks weakly, wishing he was at home watching Miss Marple with Arthur, having his hair stroked.

“Gay club just across the road,” Gwaine says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

“I should go home,” Merlin hiccups, but Gwaine shakes his head.

“No way. You haven’t truly graduated until you’ve had a pink sparkly tequila shot out of a sailor’s bellybutton.” Merlin gags and throws up again.

 

The night club is a bit like the fetish clubs Arthur takes him to sometimes, in that it’s pitch black with flashing lights and loud, thumping music. No-one seems to be dressed funny, or having sex though; and rather than sultry red and black velvet and PVC and leather, everything here is glowing pink and purple, the floor is glittery, there’s a mirror ball on the ceiling, and people are just dancing and splashing neon blue drinks with umbrellas stuck in the top all over each other. It looks fun. Freya thrusts one of the blue drinks into Merlin’s hand and instructs him to down it, and then there’s a shot called a brain haemorrhage, and then a glitter bomb, and then a Cosmopolitan, which is a very pleasing shade of pink, and a Kamikaze, which is a very nauseating shade of green, and then several penis coladas (as Gwaine calls them), and then Merlin can’t remember anything else, except being surrounded by a crush of bodies grinding and jumping and bumping against and around him. He’s sick a few more times, and realises he’s in a really, really bad way when he can’t get off the loo floor. He ends up falling asleep with his head on the loo-seat until Gwaine finds him, washes his face, makes him rinse his mouth out with water, and then takes him outside with Elyan, his flatmate, where they summon a taxi home.

“ _M’sgobacArfrrr,_ ” he mumbles unintelligibly again and again, head on Gwaine’s shoulder, “ _take’mhomeplease.”_

“Dunno where you live buddy,” Gwaine says apologetically. “I’ve got a nice big double you can share, unless ye fancy the sofa. S’a bit grubby mind.”

 

Merlin sleeps for the taxi journey, and doesn’t remember getting inside Gwaine and Elyan’s flat. He’s aware of Gwaine helping him take his shirt and jeans off, and he’s aware of protesting, thinking _only Arthur’s supposed to take my clothes off_ , and wondering where Arthur is.

“S’all covered in sick, pal. Here, I’ll give ye some trackies and one of my rugby tees.” He’s very sweet about tucking Merlin into bed, and Merlin tries to thank him before passing out.

 

*

 

When Merlin wakes up the following morning, he instantly wishes he hadn’t. He can barely open his eyes, his head is pounding, his stomach is crawling, he’s hot and sticky and his mouth feels like something died in it. It takes him half an hour to sit up, where he finds water and paracetamol waiting for him, along with a post-it note:

 

 _Me and Elyan had to go to rugby training, sorry to leave you, thought you needed the sleep. Hope you don’t feel too awful - help yourself to anything you fancy. Leftover bacon in the fridge._ _Eat it_ _! Hope to see you out again soon, you’re a sexy dancer :D … Gx_

 

He leaves a mobile number at the bottom, and Merlin suddenly thinks _mobile! Arthur!_ and crawls out of the bed to search the floor, his jean pockets. He can’t find that or his wallet or his house key. He curls into a ball wanting to cry, feeling awful and certain he’s going to be in big trouble. He almost goes back to bed to put off the inevitable, but knows it’ll be worse the longer he leaves it. Instead he stumbles into the kitchen and living area until he finds a landline phone, and carefully dials Arthur’s mobile. Arthur picks up on the first ring.

“Arthur Pendragon,” he answers.

“It’s me,” Merlin whispers.

“Oh thank _god_ ,” Arthur curses. “Where are you?” Merlin feels like crying again, realising he doesn’t actually know.

“I’m at one of Gwen’s friend’s houses. I don’t know his address.”

“Give me a moment, I’ll get Leon to trace the call.” Merlin stays silent as Arthur and Leon have a conversation on the other side of the phone, hugging his knees, and rocking to keep the nausea at bay. “We think we’ve got you. Look out of the windows and see if you can see a park.” Merlin hobbles to the front bay windows, and sees an expanse of green.

“Yes I can,” he confirms, closing his eyes against the light.

“Leon will collect you from outside the house in half an hour,” Arthur says, and then he hangs up. Merlin puts the phone back, takes the paracetamol Gwaine kindly left for him, makes Gwaine’s bed, and gets back into his vomit-stained clothes, leaving Gwaine’s in a neatly folded pile. He finds the pad of post-it notes and a pen and writes his own message:

 

_Thank you for taking care of me last night, and making sure I was safe. I’m sorry for being so much trouble for you. I hope you and Elyan had a great game, and that you enjoy the rest of the weekend. Merlin_

 

He doesn’t leave his number.

 

*

 

“How cross is he?” Merlin asks from the back of the BMW, Leon driving him home. Leon glances at him in the rearview mirror.

“He was very worried when you didn’t come home,” he says kindly. “He didn’t sleep at all last night.” _Very cross then_ , Merlin’s brain supplies.

Arthur meets them at the door and Leon disappears quickly, giving Merlin a sympathetic grin as he leaves. Arthur takes in Merlin’s dishevelled state, stained clothes.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispers, moving towards Arthur, and hesitating when Arthur moves back.

“You probably want a shower,” Arthur says, nodding towards their bedroom. Merlin feels on edge, not being able to read Arthur’s mood, but he really _does_ want a shower, so he hastily retreats to their ensuite bathroom and spends 20 minutes letting the hot water cleanse him. When he’s minty fresh and his skin is flushed and damp with heat, he returns to the bedroom to find some fresh clothes. Arthur is sitting on the bed, vomity jeans beside him, holding up Gwaine’s post-it note. Merlin feels ill.

“It’s from Gwaine,” he explains. “He lives with Gwen’s brother Elyan, and they all play in Lance’s band.”

“And you slept and ‘sexy danced’ with Gwaine?” Arthur’s voice is dangerously controlled and Merlin doesn’t like it. It’s making his head throb again.

“No,” he shakes his head, climbing on the bed beside Arthur, desperate to touch him. “I’m not used to drinking, so I got drunk very quickly. I knew I should come home after the pub, but everyone convinced me to go with them all to a nearby club afterwards. I don’t remember much of that, just being sick in the loo a lot. Gwaine found me and cleaned me up and took me back to his; I couldn’t walk, or speak, so I’d have never made it home by myself. And I lost my phone and wallet and key too, so I couldn’t have called you, or paid for a bus, or got into the building anyway. He gave me clean pyjamas and let me share his bed, that’s all. I can’t remember dancing.”

“Now do you understand why Leon is a good idea?” Arthur asks irritably. Merlin bites his lip. He may be feeling awful today, and he really is sorry for worrying Arthur, but going out last night by himself had been fun. He’d just let the freedom get to his head a bit, that’s all.

“Lots of people accidentally get drunk when they’re young and celebrating, Arthur,” Merlin says quietly. “I promise I’ll be more careful with alcohol next time.”

“Next time?” Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Next time, I’ll come with you myself.” Merlin looks down at his feet. It’s not that he doesn’t want Arthur to get to know his friends, it’s just that he’d like _one_ thing that belongs to him alone. One small independence. “I’ll bring you some food and let you sleep it off,” Arthur says, leaving the room with a basket of Merlin’s dirty clothes to put a wash on, and with Gwaine’s crumpled note in hand. Merlin knows it will be disposed of.

 

When he wakes up he feels much better. It’s dark outside, and the bedside clock reads 19:22. Stretching, and enjoying the cool sheets on his naked body, he luxuriates in the dark, painless silence, snuggling beneath the duvet. He contemplates how best to apologise to Arthur, and wraps a robe around himself before gingerly creeping from the bedroom to the sitting room. Arthur’s not there. He goes to the kitchen and helps himself to some melon and a few grapes, as well as some iced water. Then he tries the study. Arthur looks up from his desk, where he’s working. He looks tired.

“Feeling better?” he asks. Merlin nods, climbing into Arthur’s lap and wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

“I’m really sorry for worrying you,” he whispers, nuzzling Arthur’s neck. Arthur slides an arm around him and kisses his ear. He’s unusually quiet. “Are you going to punish me?” Merlin asks, peering up at him cautiously. Arthur considers him for a moment.

“Do you want me to punish you?” he asks lightly. Merlin thinks of too-tight handcuffs and a stinging whip and claustrophobic breathplay and shakes his head. Arthur inclines his head, as if he was expecting the answer. “Then no,” he says simply, leaning back in his chair to look at Merlin properly. “Do you remember the conversation about parameters we had at the beginning of our relationship?” he asks. Merlin’s not sure where this is leading. Of _course_ he remembers that conversation. It’s when he became a sub. He nods uncertainly. “Do you remember that I said these relationships only work if _both parties_ communicate their needs to each other?” Arthur continues. Merlin stays quiet. He supposes he hasn’t really ever done that. Arthur looks down and sighs. “Merlin, if you don’t tell me what it is you want or need, or like or don’t like, how do I know whether or not I’m crossing your boundaries? Taking it too far? Hurting you beyond the confines of play? Taking advantage of you in some way? Clearly last night you were _acting out_ in some way, but I can’t understand why. I may be a dominant, but I’m not a tyrant. It’s upsetting that you don’t trust that I’d listen to you.”

“But you don’t,” Merlin says quietly. Arthur raises an eyebrow. “You don’t, Arthur,” Merlin repeats, pressing his forehead into the warm space between Arthur’s neck and shoulder, where he feels safe. Arthur wraps his arms around him, kissing his head.

“I’m listening,” he says. Merlin fiddles with his buttons, working out what to say.

“I like being yours, and being looked after by you,” Merlin starts slowly, lifting his face to look at Arthur. “I know you have particular sexual appetites, and mostly I don’t mind any of that.”

“But?” Arthur encourages him.

“But I do need a little bit of my own life as well as _our_ life, Arthur,” Merlin whispers imploringly. “I love you very much, and you’re my family, but it gets lonely, sometimes, not having friends too.”

“I asked you, at the beginning, whether you wanted to experiment at university,” Arthur reminds him. Merlin takes his face between his hands.

“I _don’t_ want to experiment. But I’d like to _experience_. I’m 21 and last night was my first night out with friends. I liked feeling normal, dancing, drinking, being able to _look forward_ to coming home to you. It was nice.”

“Okay,” Arthur says slowly. “What else?” Merlin looks down.

“Food,” he murmurs.

“Food?” Arthur repeats.

“I’d really like to go to a restaurant and choose something I think sounds delicious from the menu.” Arthur blinks impassively.

“I see. What else?” Merlin bites his lip. The next bit is the hardest to say, given Arthur’s sexual preferences.

“I don’t enjoy extreme play,” he admits in a hurry, looking down at his bony knees. “Being denied, humiliated, strangled, _punished_ , it upsets me. I don’t understand how you can _enjoy_ watching me cry, or bleed, when it happens.” Merlin’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and he wipes them away with the back of his hand. “Giving control of my body to you to play with in a way that satisfies you, and brings us both pleasure, is okay. But sometimes you go too far, and that scares me.” Arthur is quiet for a long time, eventually letting his arms drop from holding Merlin.

“So … last night. Was that your bid for freedom?”

“ _No!_ ” Merlin protests, vigorously shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to celebrate finishing my degree with a meal I couldn’t choose and being tied up and hurt afterwards. Gwen’s invitation sounded fun.”

“You don’t have fun with me then,” Arthur says coldly. Merlin presses his lips to the side of Arthur’s throat in supplication, closing his eyes, mind flooded with memories of watching operas in old palazzos in Venice and dancing through art galleries in Paris and sailing in the Caribbean and playing computer games on their sofa with bowls of popcorn and listening to music wrapped together in the bath and being tickled in bed for sneaking in Morgana’s cat when they were cat-sitting for Arthur’s sister, and waking up to hot kisses across his belly.

“I do. Every day,” he breathes, truthfully, clinging to Arthur. “But I can’t choose when I get _my_ Arthur, my kind, wonderful loving Arthur, or the Arthur that needs to see me suffer.” He can hear the clocks in the room ticking as time passes, watching Arthur staring at the table unseeingly.

“I organised a new phone for you,” he says eventually, pushing Merlin off his lap and standing, handing him a new device. “Old number, fully charged. Your bank cards have been cancelled too, and new ones ordered. Leon has a new set of keys for you.” Merlin is touched, as always, by Arthur’s care and thoughtfulness. He moves towards him, hungry for closeness and warmth, but Arthur moves away. “There are takeaway menus in the kitchen,” Arthur continues, returning to his laptop. “Order whatever you feel like eating.” Merlin moves closer to Arthur again, gently putting a hand on the back of his neck.

“Will you eat with me?” he asks pleadingly. Arthur shakes his head.

“I’ve already eaten, thank you. I have business to see to.”

“Do you want to play later?” Merlin asks anxiously. Arthur shakes his head again.

“No, Merlin. I need to consider everything you’ve told me this evening. We shouldn’t be intimate until we’re agreed on the nature of that intimacy.”

“Arthur, I _want_ to be intimate with you,” Merlin implores him desperately, tears in his eyes. “We can be intimate - we can play - _without_ pain?” 

“Intimacy is built on trust,” Arthur says tiredly, “you haven’t trusted me with your needs, and now I can’t trust you with mine. Go and have a nice evening.” Merlin’s heart contracts painfully, but after Arthur returns to work, ending their conversation, he withdraws sadly. He sits on the sofa in the sitting room not really knowing what to do with himself. He tries watching some television, and then reading. He looks at the takeaway menus as Arthur suggested, but he can’t see anything he fancies. He makes himself some porridge instead and retreats to his art studio, relaxing as he puts on some classical music and begins to paint.

At 10pm he clears up, and goes to bed to wait for Arthur.

 

*

 

When he wakes up, Arthur’s side of the bed has not been slept in, and Arthur has gone from the house. Feeling his lungs contract in panic, he scrambles out of bed, hurrying to the guest room, the playroom, the study, hoping to find his lover. Then he checks his phone, searches for a note, anything to indicate where Arthur might be. Eventually he calls Leon.

“D-do you know where Arthur is?” he stammers, by way of good morning.

“I drove him to Heathrow an hour ago,” Leon replies, surprised. “Didn’t he tell you?” Merlin sits down weakly, heart hammering against his ribcage.

“He must have forgotten,” Merlin mumbles. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Singapore, I think,” Leon tells him. “He’s left me at your disposal, so let me know if you want to go anywhere, or if you need anything?” Merlin can feel a sob threatening to break. “Merlin?” Leon prompts, concerned.

“Did he say when he’d be back?” Merlin manages to whisper, curling in on himself.“A couple of weeks I think he mentioned?” Leon says vaguely. “Never normally likes to be away from you for too long though, does he, so I’m sure he’ll be back soon. I was surprised he didn’t take you with him, actually, now that you’ve finished college for the summer and all.” He’s trying to be kind, but it absolutely _breaks_ Merlin. He hangs up as the floods of wracking tears begin, and hugs his knees. Arthur would _never_ normally leave him behind, not even for a night, hasn’t since Merlin came to live with him at 17. How Leon hasn’t noticed that something’s _definitely_ wrong with Arthur, Merlin doesn’t know. He feels like Arthur has ended their relationship without telling him, walked away without a backwards glance now he knows how Merlin truly feels about everything. The anguish is indescribable. Merlin can’t begin to fathom life without him, doesn’t want to. He just wanted a bit more balance, that was all. Less pain, less control, not less _Arthur_. He fights for breath, unable to stop shaking for a long while after the crying stops. Once he’s calmed down, he realises he just needs to speak to Arthur, and he’ll feel better. Arthur said _forever_ , he reassures himself. He wouldn’t just leave Merlin behind if he was finished, not Arthur. He said he needed to think about everything, maybe he just needed some space to do that? Merlin fumbles for his phone, and then remembers Arthur’s on a plane and can’t receive calls. He begins typing instead.

 

_Arthur, I’m so, so sorry for upsetting you. My heart broke when I woke up without you. Please, please call me when you land in Singapore. I need to hear you. Please don’t give up on me, or us. I love you I love you I love you I love you, beyond the universe. You are my world. xxxxxxxx_

 

That done, he goes back to bed, burrowing into Arthur’s space, drinking up the smell of him on their bedsheets.

 

Sometimes he paints. He orders groceries online, healthy stuff that Arthur would approve of. He reads the books in Arthur’s library. Leon asks if he wants to go anywhere, but Merlin won’t leave the house, terrified that Arthur will come home and pack and leave again and Merlin will miss his chance. He doesn’t respond to messages from his friends. He doesn’t show his paintings to art galleries. He’s absolutely frozen, refusing to move forwards, in case it means leaving Arthur behind. He won’t do that, never in his lifetime.

 

Eventually, after three weeks, there’s a message.

 

_I’m coming home tonight. X_

 

Merlin is giddy with relief. He reads the message again and again, treasuring it, holding the phone close to his heart, as if pressing Arthur himself close to him. _Arthur hasn’t left me._ His brain sings. _He’s coming home_. _You’ll see him in just a few hours_. He feels like a child on Christmas Eve.

He spends quite a long time in the bathroom, carefully preparing himself, making sure he looks perfect for Arthur. He knows Leon is leaving for the airport at 6pm, so he expects Arthur back around 8-8.30pm. At 19.50, freshly showered, he makes his way to their playroom and lies face down on the bed, arms by his sides, legs open, naked and ready, heart fluttering.

 

His breath contracts when he hears the door open. There’s complete silence for long, tense minutes, and then careful footsteps, and a hot palm placed flat against the small of his back. He feels the bed dip - Arthur sitting down beside him - the thump of shoes hitting the floor. Then he’s being pulled into Arthur’s arms, warm and solid and he sighs in relief at the feeling of being home, safe, the smell of Arthur making him shudder with want. He burrows his nose into the soft cotton of Arthur’s shirt, inhaling him, wanting skin.

“Why are you in here?” Arthur whispers, stroking his hair.

“I realised I was being stupid,” Merlin murmurs, keeping his eyes closed. “You need things from me, and I need things from you. You’ve given me everything, Arthur. I want to give you everything too. Including this.” Arthur continues to stroke his hair, swiping a thumb across Merlin’s cheeks to catch the tears rolling down his face. “Where have you been?” Merlin cries brokenly. “Why did you leave me?” Arthur hugs him closer.

“New York,” he says quietly, and Merlin looks up at him then, eyes sparkling with wetly.

“Mordred,” Merlin breathes, face crumpling, drawing away from Arthur. Mordred had been Arthur’s sub when he met Merlin. He moved to New York once Arthur finished their relationship, trying to heal his broken heart. Arthur shakes his head, drawing Merlin against him more tightly.

“Gaius,” he explains. Merlin looks confused.

“Wasn’t he your therapist when your mother died?” Arthur nods.

“Yes. I wanted his help again. I wanted to understand why I enjoy sex the way I do. To see if it was something I could resolve.” Merlin’s heart thuds against his ribcage painfully.

“What did he say?” Merlin whispers.

“That understanding my personality and behaviours could take years of psychotherapy, that there were no easy answers, and that there was a more important question to ask myself.” Arthur looks down at Merlin and smiles softly. “Would I rather live without BDSM, or without Merlin?”

“You can have both Arthur,” Merlin promises urgently, desperate not to lose his partner. Arthur shakes his head.

“I can’t, Merlin. When I thought you were enjoying everything we did, I enjoyed it too. I can’t now that I know how unhappy and scared it’s made you.”

“So you want someone else?” Merlin mumbles tearfully. Arthur tilts his chin upwards and kisses him lightly on the mouth.

“Of course not. I’d _like_ to have BDSM _and_ you in my life, but I can live without the BDSM. I absolutely _can’t_ live without you. So, no more kink. We’ve tried things my way for the last few years, now it’s your turn. We can have a totally normal, conventional relationship and sex life, and eat pizza all day if that makes you happy. Gaius has recommended a therapist in London called Alator. I’ll have sessions with him to work through everything else.”

“ _Arthur_ ,” Merlin groans, twisting his hands into Arthur’s hair and pulling their faces together to kiss him, passionately, desperately, ardently. After long moments of gripping each other, reacquainting themselves with the topography and taste of one another, Merlin eventually pulls back, holding Arthur’s face between his slender hands. “Thank you, my darling, wonderful, treasured man,” he sniffs, overwrought. “I love you with my whole heart.”

“And I you,” Arthur replies, kissing his nose. He rolls onto his back, pulling Merlin with him, and leaning down to the foot of the bed to pull up the covers when he realises Merlin is shivering, naked as he is. He looks around the room. “We’ll have to figure out what to do in here,” he muses. “Nursery, maybe?” Merlin’s eyes widen.

“What?” he squeaks.

“Well, I figure we’ll want kids one day, after we get married, won’t we?” Merlin half laughs half cries as he slides out of bed, pulling Arthur with him through the house and up the stairs to his attic studio. He quickly strips Arthur once they’re inside, dropping his clothes to the floor and crowding him against the wall, pressing their naked bodies together.

“Let me show you _my_ kind of kink _,”_ Merlin whispers, grinning, and then dances backwards, putting on a record; Thom Yorke’s _Hearing Damage._ He rolls a canvas out across the wooden floorboards like a rug and then flings open a cupboard, extracting several cans of paint and prising the lids off, pouring them in swirls and splashes and arcs across the blank material. Arthur watches his mad, frenetic energy with growing arousal, cripplingly besotted with his lover. Merlin finally stops moving and looks up at Arthur, eyes glittering. “Come here,” he requests, and Arthur moves to him as if drawn by magnets. Then they’re kissing as Merlin drags him down into the pools of paint, and they slide together, Merlin painting his body with his hands, rolling over and under him, rubbing against him, gasping. “Please, Arthur,” he whispers, arching beneath him, “take me.” Arthur uses the oil paints as lube and pushes inside Merlin, belly and face down in the paint, rutting into him until he comes untouched. Arthur gets caught up in the heady smell, the soft thump of Merlin’s electronic, experimental rock music, the lithe frame of his lover pliant and satisfied beneath him, and it only takes a dozen more thrusts for him to release himself too, burying himself inside Merlin again. He giggles against Merlin’s neck, feeling light, remade, and smiles at Merlin’s responding giggle. He slides out and rolls Merlin over, crawling over his body and grinning as Merlin wraps his legs and arms around him, paint-assaulted hair sticking up like a hedgehog. He takes in the blue and snorts.

“You look like Sonic,” he chuckles, and Merlin nuzzles his neck.

“And _you_ look like Green Lantern Man,” he retorts, drawing circles in the paint pooling with sweat and come on Arthur’s chest. “I like some control,” he says suddenly, kissing Arthur’s nipple. “And some kink.” He looks up at Arthur, eyes crinkling. “Maybe if I try to communicate better this time we can find a compromise that makes us _both_ happy?” Arthur answers him with a kiss that lasts hours.

 

*

 

At Merlin’s opening exhibition, _The Art of Control_ \- hosted at the city’s reknowned Grettir Gallery - that particular installation, entitled _Body Studies in Blue_ , sells for £25,000. Merlin can’t believe someone has bought one of his pieces, made partially from his and Arthur’s come. He’s delighted though, glowing and beautiful, and Arthur has never loved him more.

 

He doesn’t tell Merlin that their sex splatterings now sit pride of place in the entrance hall of Pendragon Global Investments.

 

 


End file.
